Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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THE LONE WITNESS ON a little river far up in northern Canada, Watson ' s paper-mills hummed and buzzed continuously like a drone of bees. All day long logs floated down to the mills from the huge timber woods some ten miles up the river. Only at nightfall did the activity of the little paper-making town cease. Only at nightfall could the roaring of the huge waterfall below the town be heard. J. P. Watson, heavy and red-faced, with twice the strength of an ordinary man, was the owner of these mills. He ran the whole village, and was regarded by the vil- lagers with awe not unmixed with fear. He was feared because he was so strict and hard; and although he drove his men relentlessly ten hours a day, nobody grumbled, because he paid well. On the evening of one hot, sultry day, Anne Watson, the pulpmagnate ' s only daughter, sat at the window of her bedroom staring vinseeingly at the landscape in front of her. Her face was white and strained except for a redness around her eyes, which were a mixture of terror and anger. Her long, slender fingers twisted nervously at a handkerchief, and her lower lip was caught between her teeth. She sat there as the sun sank lower and lower, and finally disappeared. Still she sat there, her hands never ceasing llu ir nervous movenienl. Finally somebody moving in the garden below caught her eye and broke the spell which seemed to hold her. A little old man, l ent, wrinkled and lann( (l from long lays in llu o|)cn, was coming up tlie path. At ihe sight of liiui Honi ;liiing iiiHidi; lier Hna|)])ed and like a flood, ihc liorrible scene that had |K.|

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lives at this time, many fear at the expense of our work. Our keenness for Basketball grows with the years. We have many fine players shaping in the lower Forms, and are proud of our two School Teams. Both have worked hard and have captured their respective Cups. The interest of the rest of the School is shown by the increasing attendance at the games, for which the teams are sincerely grateful. On the part of the School we wish Mrs. Bombe and her husband all the luck and hope, that she will manage him as she managed us. We all agree that Miss Parker is a worthy successor to Miss Booth and it is owing to her efforts that we have made a success of our Athletic year. It was with deepest regret that we heard that Mrs. Munro had left us to join her husband. Although few of us know the real author of the words describing Pitt The pilot who weathered the storm we all know that it was Mrs. Munro who quoted them. Undoubtedly we shall, in the years to come, forget much of our History but, Pitt, the pilot who weathered the storm will always remain. We were sorry to lose Miss Lewis who had taught for many years at Traf and she left many friends behind her. We welcome the Mistresses who came in September and hope we have not completely exhausted them. It is not generally known that Forrest Burt who came first in Junior Matriculation two years ago, and first in Senior Matric. last June, was the winner of the Australian Essay in the Province of Quebec. The results were only announced after school closed last summer. Forrest put a great deal of hard work into this essay and she deserves our congratulations. Jean Harvie, whom many of us remember at Traf. won the Gold Medal for Classics in her final year at McGill. We olso offer our hearty congratulations to Jean. A Jean Scrimger DoREEN Robinson Barbara Ward PREFECTS Barbaba Barnard Madeleine Parent Elizabeth Sharp Katharine Creelman Mary Burt Betty McCrory THE GRIER CUP THE Grier Cup is given annually to the Senior Girl who has maintained the highest standard of conduct, and shown the greatest devotion to her work and the best public spirit . Last June, to the great delight of the School, it was awarded to Katharine Stevenson. [15]

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taken place that afternoon, rushed over her. Every movement, every word was clear in her mind. She saw the anger on her father ' s face and the stranjje expression that had come into his eyes, almost the expression of a madman, when she had let herself go and said what had been brewing within her ever since last winter, when she had come back from the visit at her aunt ' s, where for the first time in her life she had been really happy; and where she had met Bob Robertson. She had told her father that she was going to marry Bob; that she had spent thirteen years in the same house, never meeting any young people, never going to parties, never doing anything that young people did, keeping house for her father, and for enjoyment paddling up and down the river by herself. She started to tremble violently as she thought of her final words, Why do you treat me like this? I ' m your own daughter! if you ' re trying to break me as you did m--! The terrible silence that had followed her father ' s angry Anne! , in which she realised what she had said, had terrified her, and she had stvimbled from the room, hardly noticing the bent, little figure of the old man standing just outside the door, who watched her with a dog-like expression of silent devotion and sympathy. Whose eyes, when they turned to the room in which her father was, blazed with hatred. As she watched his slow progress up the path, Anne found herself wondering about him, and at a time like ' this, she thought. She knew that he had been with the Watson paper-mills for thirty years, thirty years and he was still earning barely enough to make a living; and yet people said that he worshipped J. P. Watson and would do anything for him. Anne herself had seen the way he followed her father around and seemed devoted to him, and she could remember that ever since she was a child, he had watched her as carefully as if she had been his daughter. Like the time when he had pulled her out of the river when her canoe had upset. A funny little man, who never voiced his opinions but always listened to everything, his quick black eyes, which he could veil at a moment ' s notice, never missing anything. She wondered how he could like her father after the day she had seen him strike the little man and knock him down; and after all the times that her father stormed and swore at him for some- thing that was not his fault. Only the housekeeper, Mrs. Philips had said, He don ' t love J. P. like he makes out. The next day dawned bright and hot, and Anne rising from the bed where she had thrown herself the night before without bothering to undress, stared at herself in the mirror with a determined expression, as she tidied her hair. She had decided whether her father gave his consent or not she would marry Bob, though her heart pounded rapidly at the thought of going through another such scene. When she went downstairs Mrs. Philips informed her that her father had gone down the river O so angry , and that somebody was in for it. After gulping down a cup of steaming coffee, Anne left the house in the direction of the mills. Walking quickly, and repeating over and over again what she was going to say, she soon reached the town. Her father, she was told, had gone farther down the river to Higgins ' the last house before the waterfalls. Anne followed, vainly trying to [17]